His Loyalty Test Killed Me

I've been married to Federico Moretti for four years, and the entire time, we've lived in a run-down basement. He works three jobs, all to save up money to buy me a house filled with morning sunlight and make it our home. So when the doctor gives me my diagnosis, all I can think about is how I'm about to become a burden to him. When I get home, Federico is crouched in front of a leaking pipe, wrapping tape around it. He looks up and spots the hospital envelope in my hand, his expression darkening. "Sera, how many times have I told you? Those white coats are all crooks. Look at Alfredo's mom. She had a whole bunch of tests done and spent all that money, only to get better after drinking some mulled wine." I glance down at the diagnosis report and suddenly smile. "What if I really am dying?" He frowns. "Don't talk like that. We still owe each other a real wedding. And if you're really sick, I'll make sure you get treated, even if I have to sell my own organs." That night, I swallow all my painkillers at once, determined not to be a burden to him anymore. When I open my eyes again, I'm floating in midair, watching Federico sit on a leather couch inside a private manor. Julia Rossi leans against one of the pillars in the living room, a glass of wine in hand and smiling. "Mr. Moretti, it must have been rough on you, living in that pigeonhole day after day, pretending to be poor for her." Federico takes off his cheap digital watch and tosses it into the fireplace. "You know I love her. But the Black Crown values loyalty above all else, and in my position as Underboss, everyone around me has an angle. Without a setup like this, how could I ever be sure she loves me for who I am and not for my power and money?" Only now do I understand. All those years of scraping by are nothing but a test he carefully staged. However, it has cost me my life. Chapter 1 "Is she actually sick?" asked Julia Rossi. She tapped her fingertip against the side of her glass, her tone probing. My husband, Federico Moretti, loosened his collar, causing the expensive chain around his neck to catch the light of the crystal chandelier. "Probably not," he said. "She's seemed fine lately, and she hasn't missed a single shift. Just yesterday, she handed me 50 aureos and said she'd gotten paid. This whole scene today is probably just her trying to make me feel sorry for her." He tossed the jacket he'd just taken off to a maid, the fabric faded from repeated washings. The maid bent to catch it and shoved it into the laundry basket without so much as a glance. I had mended that jacket four times. When the cuffs frayed, I found matching thread at a thrift store and sewed until 2:00 am under the flickering bulb in our basement, my eyes watering from the strain. That night, he had held me close and said, "Sera, once I've saved enough, I swear I'll never let you suffer like this again." As it turned out, he only wanted to see how much suffering I was willing to endure for his sake. Federico pulled a box of supplements from his inner pocket and slid it across the table to Julia. The label bore the logo of a private clinic in Genavia, along with a price tag of 32,000 aureos. That was enough to cover four years of our living expenses. It was also the amount I couldn't bring myself to spend on my own treatment. "Didn't you say you were running low on supplements? I got you more. They were flown in from Genavia this morning," Federico said. Julia leaned in with a smile. "These cost 32,000 aureos. Thank you, Mr. Moretti. If she saw this, wouldn't she cry?" Federico lit a cigar, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather. "She can cry. You're not well, and you need them. If she can't even handle this much, then she's too narrow-minded. Not just anyone gets accepted into the Moretti family." A flash of smugness crossed Julia's eyes, though she softened her voice. "Still, she's your legal wife." Federico chuckled and tapped the ash off his cigar. "On paper. But the Moretti family hasn't recognized her, has it?" Behind him, his Mamma, Claudia Romano Moretti, came down the spiral staircase at an unhurried pace. She wore a cashmere shawl and an emerald ring on her finger. Her eyes drifted toward the basement, and she scoffed. "Today is the last day," she said, her voice carrying the composure of Sicellian nobility. "If she hadn't pulled this stunt, she could have signed the formal family acceptance agreement tomorrow. Instead, she chooses now to fake an illness. A woman from the slums—she's exactly as low-class as you'd expect." I froze in place. The last day? What agreement? Federico said nothing. Claudia went on. "Julia has far more sense than she does, and the two of you grew up together. You know each other inside out. I told you to choose Julia years ago, but you wouldn't listen. You had to go and fall for a woman like that. "You spent four years testing whether she really loves you. By now, you've seen enough. If you insist on bringing her into the family, she has to sign away all claims to the inheritance first." Julia spoke up gently. "Don't say that, Mrs. Moretti. Sera already has it hard enough." Claudia sneered. "Hard? A few years in a basement is hard? When the Morettis built this family from nothing, do you have any idea what we went through to get where we are? If she wants everything outside that basement, a little hardship is the bare minimum." Federico frowned. "Enough, Mamma." Claudia looked at him. "What's this? Feeling sorry for her? If you feel so sorry for her, go back to your wife." Federico fell silent for a few seconds. He picked up his phone, and only then did he notice the string of messages from our landlord, Luca Ferrari. He called back, asking, "What is it now?" Luca's voice was shaking. "Mr. Moretti, I think something's happened to your wife. I knocked, and nobody answered. All I heard was something hitting the floor inside, like a pill bottle—" Federico's face went cold. "She's throwing a tantrum. It's all an act. Just ignore her and tell her to open the door herself when she's done." I looked down and saw the basement light we'd never gotten fixed, still flickering. Beside the bed, my body had already gone cold, one hand still clenched around the diagnosis report. On it was written, "Malignant tumor with widespread metastasis. Advanced stage. Immediate hospitalization advised." And my husband was less than a hundred yards away, waiting for me to admit I was wrong. Chapter 2 Early the next morning, Luca used his spare key to unlock the iron door to the basement. A foul stench of mold and medicine rolled out. The woman from next door took one look inside and stumbled back, covering her mouth with one hand. She knew that stench all too well. Her own mother had died the same way. "Something's happened! Somebody get help!" she shouted. I lay beside the bed, my face ashen, my lips cracked and peeling. On the nightstand sat half a glass of cold water, and beside it was a bottle of painkillers with most of the pills gone. When Luca saw the diagnosis report in my hand, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. "Oh God… I should have forced the door open yesterday." … While the commotion echoed through the narrow alleys of Palarmo's old quarter, Federico sat at the dining table in his manor, taking his time over a plate of fried eggs. Julia handed him a cup of coffee, her fingertips brushing lightly over the back of his hand. "Sounds like quite a crowd is gathering over by the basement," she said. "I wonder what's going on." Federico frowned. "Is she still making a scene?" A maid rushed in, her face pale as a sheet. "Mr. Moretti, everyone out there is saying someone died in the basement." Federico dropped his fork, the metal clattering against the plate. The color drained from Julia's face. "Someone died?" Federico shot to his feet, his chair legs screeching across the stone floor. "Sera, you'd better not be taking this too far." By the time he reached the basement, a large crowd had already gathered outside the door. Luca spotted him and shouted, "That's him! He's the dead woman's husband!" Federico stopped in his tracks. Then he laughed. "She put you all up to this?" He stepped forward and raised his voice toward the doorway. "Sera, come on out. Enough with the tantrum. Fine, you win. I'm back." Only silence answered him. Luca blocked his way. "Mr. Moretti, you need to stay calm." Federico shoved his arm aside. "I'm her husband! You think I don't know what she's like? She's just throwing a fit to force my hand—" His words died in his throat as Luca pulled back the white sheet, revealing my face. For one long second, he looked as if an invisible hand had closed around his throat. Every word he'd been about to say lodged in his chest. One of the neighbors handed him the diagnosis report. "Your wife had a malignant tumor. It was already advanced." Federico stared at the paper, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it. "That's not possible… Just yesterday… she asked me what'd happen if she really died. I thought she was just making a scene. How could she actually be dead?" Luca trembled with rage. "She started coughing up blood last month. I told her to go to the hospital, but she said she didn't have any extra money. She said you were already working three jobs and had it hard enough. She couldn't be a burden to you." The woman from next door had tears in her eyes too. "Every night when she came home, she had to steady herself against the wall," she said, her voice thick with a Palarmo accent. "She'd gotten so thin it broke my heart. I made her a bowl of pasta once, and she still forced two aureos into my hand for it." She rounded on Federico, glaring at him. "You're a grown man, and you had no idea your wife was this sick? Are you blind?" Federico's lips quivered. His voice sounded strained, as if every word had to be forced through his throat. "She never told me. I really didn't know—" "You didn't know?" Luca sneered. "I called you yesterday, and you told me she was faking! I said I'd call the police, and you stopped me! Now she's dead. You're her husband, but you're standing here telling us you didn't know?" Julia arrived in her heels, which clicked against the floor with every step. She stopped in the doorway and covered her nose before speaking softly. "Federico, the smell in here is terrible…" Federico slowly turned his head to look at her. Julia's eyes instantly filled with tears. "I'm not saying that because I'm disgusted. I'm just scared…" She turned to the crowd, her voice soft. "Was Sera emotionally unstable for a while? Otherwise, why would she do something so extreme?" Federico suddenly clenched the diagnosis report in his fist, crumpling the paper into deep creases. I floated behind him and watched his body begin to tremble. Maybe he was finally realizing that I was truly dead. Chapter 3 My body had already been taken to the morgue. Federico stayed in the basement, turning everything upside down like a madman. Under the bed, through the drawers and cardboard boxes, inside the old wardrobe—he tore through everything, dumping it all onto the floor as the dust choked him and sent him into a violent coughing fit. "Where are her medical records? Where are her old test results?" he shouted. A kind neighbor picked my phone up off the floor and handed it to him. "The phone seems to be broken. We were trying to reach you earlier, but we couldn't get it to turn on." Luca looked around, then fished a plastic bag bound with a rubber band out of a gap in the cabinet and tossed it at Federico's feet. "Stop digging. Her records are all right here." Federico crouched down and picked them up one sheet at a time, his fingers trembling. The dates went back three months. The words were printed right there in stark black and white. "Suspected malignant lesion. Immediate follow-up recommended." "Two months ago: Tumor markers significantly elevated. Multiple suspected sites of metastasis." "One month ago: Confirmed advanced-stage malignant tumor. Widespread metastasis. Immediate hospitalization advised." The most recent sheet was dated last week. In the bottom-right corner was the hospital's red billing stamp, and beside it, someone had written in ballpoint pen, "Payment failed." Federico swallowed hard. "Why didn't she tell me?" Luca let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Didn't tell you? The day she collapsed from the pain in the stairwell, I took her to the hospital. The doctor called her next of kin, and a woman answered." Julia was standing in the doorway, and the color instantly drained from her face. Federico turned to Luca. "Who?" Luca looked toward Julia, his voice dripping with contempt. "Who else? Her. She answered the phone, said she was your fiancee, and told the doctor never to call that number again." Tears immediately streamed down Julia's cheeks. "I didn't! I thought she just had anemia. Doctors always exaggerate things, and I didn't want you to worry, so I didn't say anything." Federico closed in on her, one deliberate step at a time, his voice dangerously low. "So you did take a call from the doctor?" Julia flinched and backed away. "Maybe… I don't really remember the details…" Federico pulled out his phone and called one of his Soldati. "Pull the hospital's call logs." Julia bit her lip and said nothing more. Just then, Federico's phone rang. Claudia's name appeared on the screen. He answered, and her voice came through, chillingly composed. "She's dead, so our top priority is killing the story. No one outside can know she died of an illness in a place like that. The official line is that she'd struggled with depression for a long time and took her own life after an emotional breakdown." A heavy silence fell over the room. Federico gripped the phone until his knuckles turned white. "Mamma, you knew she was sick?" Claudia paused for a beat before answering in a measured voice, "I knew a little. Julia mentioned it to me, so I had someone check with the doctors. Apparently, the treatment wasn't cheap." Federico's voice cracked. "So all of you knew." Claudia's voice turned ice-cold. "Don't be foolish, Federico. She was an orphan, and treating an illness like that is a bottomless pit. "You're taking over as Don next month. We can't afford any trouble right now. And there was nothing wrong with her choosing to die. It proves she really did love you and didn't want to drag you down." Hovering off to the side, I suddenly recalled that afternoon. I'd been huddled in a hospital corridor with my medical records clutched in my hand, calling Federico. The phone had rung for a long time before someone finally picked up, but the voice was Julia's. "Sera? This is Julia. Federico's busy. Stop guilt-tripping him over every little ache and pain. He's tired enough as it is." After that day, I never dared call that number again. It wasn't that I didn't want to live. It was because, by then, they'd cut off every way I had of asking for help. Chapter 4 On the third day, Federico finally turned on my phone. One corner of the screen was cracked. I'd damaged it when the pain made me lose my balance and sent me tumbling down the basement stairs. To save money, I'd never gotten it fixed. Federico typed in my birthday. The phone remained locked. He tried his own. It was still locked. After a moment's thought, he entered the date we'd registered our marriage, and the screen lit up. He stared at it for a long time without moving. Our chat thread was still pinned at the top. The last message was from the night I died. "Federico, I really don't feel well. It hurts so much. Could you come home early?" There was no reply. He scrolled further up. "Luca came asking about the rent today. I covered it for now." "Your shoes are falling apart. I got you another pair at the flea market. Remember to wear them." "My test results might not be good. Do you have time to talk?" "Never mind. You're too tired today. We can talk another time." Federico's fingers trembled against the screen. He opened my notes app, which was filled with a running list of my expenses. "Rent: 480 aureos. "Utilities: 50 aureos. "Federico's birthday cake: 8 aureos. "Federico's stomach medicine: 2.9 aureos. "Medical test fees: unpaid. "Hospitalization: to be confirmed." The final line was a note I'd written to myself. "I'm seriously ill. Treatment costs too much. Don't bother with treatment. Don't be a burden to him." Federico buried his face in his hands and curled up in the chair, his shoulders caving in like a house stripped of its supports. "Sera, it's all my fault. Blame me. Why won't you blame me? Just blame me…" My phone buzzed again as an email notification appeared on the screen. The recipient list was long. It included the Moretti Family Council, the Palarmo Department of Social Welfare, and three major news outlets. The subject line was as cold and sharp as a blade—"A Public Statement on the Truth of Serafina Conti's Death." Federico's finger froze against the screen. He opened the email, his eyes widening as if a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over his head. It was the goodbye email I'd sent to Lucia Bellini, the director of the orphanage, before taking the pills. I'd grown up in a church-run orphanage, and Lucia was the only person who had ever shown me any real warmth. I'd only meant to say a proper goodbye. It had never occurred to me that she would speak up on my behalf after I was gone. The attachments contained scans of my medical records, photos of the basement, my rent transfer history, and a single audio file. Federico hit play. Claudia's voice came through the speaker, as distant and polite as ever. "Sera, the Morettis don't keep invalids. If you truly want what's best for Federico, show some sense and stop burdening him." Then came my own voice, faint as a passing breeze. "But the doctor said… if I get treatment now, there's still a chance." Claudia laughed coldly. "A chance? You're just a woman from an orphanage. How are you going to pay for treatment? Did you actually think a marriage certificate entitled you to spend Moretti money? My son has a soft heart. I don't." The recording cut off abruptly. Federico sat frozen, looking as if he'd been completely hollowed out. A moment later, another attachment popped up on the screen—a scan of a signed document. The heading read, "Voluntary Waiver of All Inheritance Rights to Moretti Family Property and Spousal Rights." In the signature field was my name, Serafina Conti. Beside it was a fingerprint pressed in dark red ink. It was dated 10:47 pm on the night I died. By then, I was in so much pain I couldn't even hold a glass of water. Federico shot to his feet so fast that his chair toppled over behind him with a crash. "Impossible! There's no way she signed this!" He stared at the fingerprint, his eyes burning red like molten iron. At that exact moment, a message from Julia came through, its tone sickeningly gentle. "Mr. Moretti, the agreement has been taken care of. Sera won't get in the way of anything you do ever again. Don't blame me. Everything I did, I did for you." Federico stared at the words on the screen as the crimson in his eyes deepened. His hands wouldn't stop trembling. Only then did he finally understand. What he'd thought was a clever test of my love was actually a carefully orchestrated trap that led straight to my death. And the woman he loved… was never coming back.